This piece is called "Through Ice." Really enjoyable project, and wasn't even messy. Sometimes there's so much cutting and pasting and such, that I want to die when I'm finished because I see the huge mess i've left behind. All my stuff.

Realization. All my stuff... :)

Drive

Taking a drive, ripping up the road, the driver is going somewhere, somewhere. The driver is unaware of his destination, but he hopes it will be beautiful. When all is said and done, it will be peace, if all is said and done right, he thinks. Nay, he hopes. Because that is all he has done on this ride, is hope, but the source dwindles with every mile. He has used speed to overcome frailty, the driver only feels right when he is shooting off into the distance, so fast that the open top whips air in, making it hard to breathe. When the air cuts out of his throat, his mouth shooting open from shock, he feels alright. These diversions take him away from the curving and sickening road, from the fears that slowly corrode him, like salt to his convertible. The driver felt uneasy of the lack of a destination and the nearness of the end, all at once. He has hit some nasty bumps on this road, especially since he hits them at such a velocity. His car shows some of the marks to remind him, and so does he. Yes, some of these marks have changed him. He drives quite recklessly at this point. If the driver were to send another driver off the road, he would not feel guilty. There had been a time, when it would have upset him, but now it was just a minor oversight. This happened on the road. If they did not make it to the destination, all the better, for the road was perilous and altered the driver, better to be unchanged, better to stay off the road. Sometimes the droning of the engine has tired the driver, he has wished to slow, but felt that he couldn’t. There was no tiring on this road, and in fear has stepped on the gas. If he had slowed, the driver, wondered, would I have seen something else? Did I miss something? He has left beautiful paradises to enter hellish dumps. Sometimes the driver fears that he has hastened to get to nothing; that there is no true end, that it is truly just a parking lot, or a cliff. What if I am not prepared when the end comes, what if it’s not what I wanted? Then I have hurried, have left everything behind for nothing. What if I find that I rushed through the best part? His hand gripped the steering wheel at this thought, and he pushed on the gas, gunning it down a hill and up a steep incline. The scenery has changed so vastly, but all on the same pavement, all to the same end, no matter what roads he takes. So he drives; the wind whipping about his head, a maddeningly high whistle circling and spiraling around his head. He has sometimes listened closely to the wind, heard voices in it. The driver prays there is someone watching out for him, that protects and ensures a fitting end. The driver implores for someone to see his intentions, to remember what the road has done to him; but most, for the destination to be worth driving to. Taking a drive, ripping up the road, the driver is going somewhere, somewhere.

This would be the best fifteen minutes I have ever spent in Target! Bobo seemed to not understand that the objective was to NOT look good. While I was picking out the most ridiculous head-gear, she was getting the flattering stuff, and I was in most of the pictures, which usually doesn't happen. It was hilarious... we also tried on awful clothing ensembles. Mine was gold leggings, a purple and pink plaid skirt and a grey and black ghost shirt... sounds harmless, doesn't it? You don't need to see THOSE photos, though. :)

Imagine a day when nothing goes right and you decide to punish some cardboard for the irrational humor of life. Meet Sel, my little alien friend... I was going to give her a body and go for the old poster styles with little girls in pink dresses and flowers in her hair... but it's not finished quite.

This is for my dear friend Tricia... I have been working on more of an Art Nouveu kind of style... which you can see needs work... but lovely Tricia helps a lot. :)

Another Story Unnamed.

Here's another little bit of writing. It doesn't feel complete, I might add more to it if I am compelled to do so. :)

There was something about the waves that crashed in on Rialto Beach that set it apart. Perhaps it was because it had been the first beach she had set her eyes on, perhaps the nostalgia tainted her view of all beaches. But whatever it was, it consumed Veronica body and soul. When she dreamed, she could hear the waves thundering to the shore. In stressful times she imagined the rocks that adorned the beach; each of them worn to be perfectly rounded, soft and cold circular objects. As she stood on Realto, the wind knocked against her, stealing her breath. Terse screams could be heard in the gasping air, high pitched like a banshee. It must have been the cries of gulls high above, Veronica told herself. Despite how the wind blew, its distinct smell curled thickly around her. The scent of the life living below that was left behind in each wave to decompose filled her head. The view of thick woods surrounded her senses. It reminded Veronica of the fairy tales that told of the black forest. So dense, light was scarce to come by, and fiendish, evildoers found refuge in the shadows and corners of this crooked dimension. The waves came in with a dramatic flourish, ripping and roaring into the rocks, a crescendo of the senses as the spray shot into the air. Veronica’s gaze shifted over the mound in the distance. She knew its shape well, just as she did with the entire beach. Although she could not remember the legend that was told by Native Americans about that rocky silhouette not more than two hundred yards away, she still had the insatiable craving to swim to its rough façade, to climb the imposing figure. There was something wonderful about swimming in the ocean, a complete surrender to the willful waves as they sloshed heavily over you. A total reneging of commitments except one to the water, to know your place, vulnerable. If it wanted you, it would take you; like all things wild it had powerful, dark secrets that only came to you via the embrace of death. Veronica shivered from something she was unable to identify as she watched the water being pushed away as the waves passed, turning and twisting in green spirals.